


See Back For Details

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Flirting, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29427816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: After Clarke discovers her boyfriend's infidelity on national TV, she starts getting secret messages on her coffee cup every morning.  By Valentine's Day, she is determined to discover who is behind it.Based onthis post.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 58
Kudos: 428





	See Back For Details

Clarke rubbed at her eyes, trying to get the menu in front of her to stop blurring. She didn't even know why she was looking; she ordered the same thing every damn morning. Well, the number of espresso shots involved varied, depending on the length of the shift she was going into or coming off of, but beyond that... 

On a good day, her boyfriend said it was because she was a woman who knew what she wanted. On a bad day, she was boring or predictable or stuck in a rut. Just like their relationship. 

Except... ex-boyfriend. Former relationship. 

Because when someone tells you they're staying home, just having a quiet night in even though it's New Year's Eve, and then you see them pop up on the TV screen everyone in the entire hospital is staring at (or at least it feels that way) kissing someone else as the ball drops and the countdown to the new year reaches zero, and now everyone is staring at _you_ instead... it's over. 

It's so. Fucking. Over. 

"What can I get you?" the barista asked her, even though he already knew the answer. 

For a second she was tempted to surprise him, to surprise herself, to order something else because new year, new her... but her usual order spilled from her lips in a resigned sigh, and she held her phone up to the reader and waited for it to chime, then slid down the counter to the pick-up area. 

She zoned out while she waited, feeling like the living embodiment of a hangover even though she hadn't had a sip of alcohol the night before. She couldn't wait to go home and collapse into bed, and she was so glad she hadn't given in when her boyfriend's lease was up for renewal and he'd suggested maybe they should think about moving in together. She'd given him a list – a long list – of reasons why it was a terrible idea, and in hindsight maybe that had been the beginning of the end, but if it meant all she had to do was change her sheets to erase all traces of him from her living space, she still counted it as a win. 

"Clarke?"

Her head snapped up and she looked around, thinking maybe someone from the hospital had come in, or one of her friends – did she still have friends? Or were they his friends and she would lose them in the split even though he was the asshole? – but it was just the girl behind the counter, letting her know her order was ready. 

She mumbled her thanks and took the cup, noting that her name was spelled wrong. Again. As usual. But if the worst they did was leave off the e, she figured she was doing okay. At least it was still clear who the drink was intended for. She wrapped her hands around the thinly insulated paper cup, appreciating the warmth as it eased the ache in her chilled fingers. When she brought it to her lips to take a sip even though it was almost certainly still too hot, she noticed that there was a little smiley face drawn next to her name.

The cynical part of her thought it was just the ploy of an overenthusiastic employee shilling for tips, but the part of her that was looking for something to take a little of the sting out of the events of the preceding night couldn't help hoping maybe someone had noticed her mood and wanted to make her day a little brighter. 

As she walked the few blocks back to her apartment, she kept looking down at the little drawing, and by the time she got home she couldn't help it: she smiled back.

* * *

The next day she went back, scanning the faces of the people behind the counter, wondering which of them had been responsible for making her drink the day before. Had it been the girl who called her name? She was new, Clarke thought, probably hired to help with the increased volume that always accompanied the holidays, and cute in a slightly nerdy way. She wore thick-rimmed glasses that were always sliding down her nose, making Clarke's fingers itch to reach out and push them back up again. 

"Morning," a bored-looking barista Clarke didn't recognize said as she approached. "What can I get you?" Clarke rattled off her usual order, which the barista punched into the computer like it offended her somehow. "Name?"

"Clarke," Clarke said. "With an e."

"Uh-huh," the girl said. She looked up at Clarke expectantly, and Clarke resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she paid for her order and moved down. 

She saw Glasses Girl behind the counter, but it was impossible to tell whose order she was working on, especially as the line continued to grow and the staff was forced to shift into high gear, moving around each other like a not-so-well-oiled machine. When her cup appeared on the counter, one of the men behind it called out, "Clarke... with an e?" He shook his head and walked away, on to the next order, and Clarke shuffled forward to retrieve it. 

And sure enough, written on the cup in Sharpie it said exactly that: Clarke-With-An-E. 

This time, it was a winking face. 

Clarke glanced at the girl at the register, the one she'd given her name to that way, but she was scowling at the customer in front of her and not paying any attention, so it probably – no, definitely – wasn't her. She looked for Glasses Girl, but she had disappeared, and Clarke was going to be late if she didn't get a move on. One of the guys behind the counter – the weird one who sometimes wore goggles perched on his head, which Clarke was pretty sure wasn't part of the corporate-approved uniform – gave her a friendly wave, and she smiled and waved back, then pushed through the crowd and out the door. 

The next time she went in, her cup came back with just her name – without the e – and nothing else. She didn't see Glasses Girl behind the counter, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Clarke didn't want to make assumptions, because everyone knew what happened when you did. But the next time there was a little doodle of a daisy, and the time after that the sunglasses face, then nothing, then a cup of coffee on her cup of coffee (very meta), then nothing again.

Clarke tried to make sense of the pattern. It seemed like the drawings appeared on days when Glasses Girl was there, but then sometimes her cup was blank on days when Clarke was sure she saw her. She couldn't really go by the demeanor of the employees – some were friendly and some weren't, some were too busy to pay much attention to anything but what they were doing in the moment and some paid more attention to her (or her chest) than she would have liked. A few times she tried to catch Glasses Girl's eye, thinking maybe if she did it would give something away, but that was probably – no, definitely – wishful thinking on Clarke's part. 

And hell, maybe it wasn't anything personal. Maybe it wasn't about her. Maybe whoever it was drew on everyone's cups. She tried to surreptitiously survey the orders as they appeared on the counter before they were snatched away by impatient hands, and didn't think she saw anything, but maybe she was just missing it. She started increasing her tips, even though she knew they were split evenly among the employees, hoping that whoever it was would notice the difference and... what? Thank her? They wouldn't even know she was the one doing it. Still, it didn't hurt, and Clarke figured she could use all the good karma she could get. 

Days turned into weeks, and it started to feel like a game that Clarke was both winning and losing. February rolled around, and with it a cold snap that made everyone short-tempered and even more in a hurry than usual. Clarke thought her secret doodler might not have time for any extra flourishes, so she was surprised when one day her cup had not a drawing, but a message. 

Specifically, a secret message. She knew, because it said so, in the same looping handwriting that had appeared on her Clarke-With-An-E cup. 

Secret Message, with an arrow downward to the fine print at the bottom of the cup that served as a warning to unwary drinkers about the temperature of its contents. But the Sharpie had blocked out most of the words, so instead Clarke's cup said: 

Careful ~~the beverage~~ you're ~~about to enjoy is~~ extremely hot.

Her head snapped up, eyes darting from one face to another to another, because surely whoever had made the edits would want to see her reaction. But no one was paying her any attention, until Goggles Guy happened to glance her way. "Something wrong?" he asked. 

Clarke shook her head. "No," she said. "No, everything's fine. Thank you." But she lingered another minute, hoping maybe someone – no, who was she kidding, hoping Glasses Girl – would look her way, maybe smile or nod or—

"'Scuse me," someone said, knocking into her as they tried to squeeze through a space that wasn't big enough for toddler to fit through, much less a full-grown man. Clarke looked up and her heart gave a painful squeeze and she found herself staring straight into the eyes of her ex. She hadn't seen or spoken to him since her text telling him it was over, and he hadn't made any attempt to convince her otherwise. 

"Oh," he said. "Hey."

_Go fuck yourself,_ she thought, but she forced a smile. "Hey," she said, and turned on her heel and walked away before he could shake off his surprise and try to push past the awkwardness of the moment. He didn't get the opportunity to try to smooth things over. Not now. Not ever. 

She didn't need him anyway. Someone – and she was going to find out who – thought she was extremely hot.

* * *

Before the warning about her own hotness, Clarke had gone around and around about whether she was reading too much into things. Sure, the little drawings could be interpreted as flirty, but they could also have just been friendly. After it, though, there was no doubt about the artist's intentions, and they stopped trying to pretend there was. 

First, it was a heart. Then the heartseyes emoji. Then the smiley face with the hearts around it. Then the winking kissy face. Every time a new drawing appeared, Clarke's breath caught and her heart beat a little bit faster, and the tiny spark that had kindled in her belly flickered and then flared, and it was all she could do not to rub her thighs together to try to ease the ache between them every time she glanced at her coffee. 

For the first time in her life, the proliferation of hearts everywhere as Valentine's Day approached didn't send her into a tailspin of anti-capitalist rage. For the first time, it suited her mood perfectly, and as she walked into the coffee shop on the morning of February 14, she couldn't help hoping that somehow, today would be the day whoever it was behind the messages would finally make their move. 

If they didn't, Clarke would have to take matters into her own hands. She just wasn't sure how. 

It was the surly girl at the register, and she didn't even wait for Clarke to place her order to punch it in and rattle off her total. Which Clarke supposed was good customer service, at least from a certain angle, and she tipped a little extra in the hope that maybe it would elicit even the vaguest hint of a smile. 

It didn't... but the bodybuilder of a man, sporting a mohawk and a dazzling smile, who was in line behind her, who held out a rose to the girl as Clarke stepped away, sure as hell did. Clarke found herself smiling too, even as her heart started to pound as she approached the pick-up counter.

She didn't see Glasses Girl, and her stomach twisted into knots and the blood her heart pushed through her felt like it had turned to ice. But when her order came up, there was a message in the same writing as all the others, this time written on the paper sleeve that served as extra insulation. 'Happy V-Day! (See Back for Details)'

Clarke took the cup to a table and gingerly eased it out of the sleeve. There was nothing on the cup underneath it, but when she peered inside there was a number. A 10-digit number, broken into the familiar 3-3-4 pattern. 

She quickly punched it into her phone and sent a text:

Happy V-Day to you too! 💗😍🥰😘

Even as she hit send, she watched the bodies behind the counter, waiting for someone to react to the sudden buzzing of their phone in their pocket. And there, one of the girls stiffened, just a little, and turned to look over her shoulder, her glasses slipping down her nose until she pushed them up.

Their eyes met, and Clarke knew. 

Not just that Glasses Girl had been the one behind the messages all along, but that this was – they were – something. She didn't know what yet, but _something_. Because there was a spark, a connection, unlike anything Clarke had ever felt before. If anyone had ever asked if she believed in love at first sight, she would have laughed in their face...

... until now.

* * *

Lexa looked away, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as color rose in her cheeks. She looked up again and Clarke – with an E – was still there, still looking at her, and suddenly all of the weeks of agonizing over – and being teased about agonizing over – exactly what to draw on her cup next time she came in, were worth it. 

Because she hadn't been wrong. She was absolutely sure she hadn't been wrong. 

She'd noticed Clarke during her very first shift, when she'd had less than half a clue what she was doing. She'd messed up her order, even, but Clarke hadn't said anything. She hadn't complained or demanded Lexa remake it, even when the guy she was with encouraged her to. She'd just said, "They're busy," and forced him to leave before he could make a fuss over something that had nothing to do with him anyway. 

She'd seen them together a few times after that, and every time he was being a jerk about something and Clarke was either trying to shut him up or talk him down. Then on New Year's Eve his face had popped up on the broadcast of the festivities, a close-up of him exchanging a kiss that was definitely more than friendly with someone who was decided not Clarke, and she'd wanted to reach through the screen, wrap her fingers around his throat, and squeeze. 

When Clarke came in the next morning looking more exhausted than Lexa had ever seen her, almost shell-shocked, it hadn't been hard to guess she'd seen the same thing. When her order had popped up, Lexa had grabbed a cup and started making it. She'd scribbled her name and then, on a whim, thinking maybe it might make at least a few seconds of her day just a little bit brighter, she'd drawn a smiley face next to it. 

Then she'd heard Clarke give her name to Octavia as Clarke-With-An-E, and she felt bad about all of the times she'd gotten it wrong so she'd made sure to get it right, and Clarke had definitely smiled that time. From there it had just sort of... spiraled. And every time she saw Clarke's eyes searching for what new drawing she'd been given, brightening when she found it, every time her lips curved into a smile... Lexa had fallen just a little bit more... and somehow when she was sure she'd hit the bottom, when there was no further to fall, Clarke's eyes would land on her, and even though Lexa was sure never to look back, she could feel her gaze, and the floor would get yanked out from under her again. 

It had been a gamble, the day she'd decided to make her feelings a little – or a lot – more obvious. Her stomach had been so knotted up when she'd sent Clarke the Secret Message she'd honestly thought for a moment she might be sick... or get fired, if anyone else saw it. Thankfully neither had happened, and Clarke had come back the next day, and the next, looking – if Lexa had to put a name to it – eager. And maybe just a little bit hopeful. 

She'd decided Valentine's Day – today – would be the day she would finally make her move. Then her boss had sent her into the back, and she'd nearly panicked, thinking she was going to miss her chance. But Jasper, who had watched all of this go down (with no small amount of teasing), came to her rescue. "Make the cup," he said. "I'll make her order." 

Lexa had instead grabbed a sleeve and written her message on it, because it was easier for Jasper to pocket that than a whole cup, and made him promise to let her know when it had been delivered. She'd been buried in boxes of newly arrived inventory when he poked his head into the back, hissing to her that the eagle had landed or some other ridiculous code phrase they hadn't agreed upon, and she'd dared to emerge to see how it played out, hoping her boss wouldn't notice.

Her phone had buzzed almost immediately, making her jump (even though she probably should have expected it), and she'd looked up at Clarke, pushing her glasses up to bring her into focus, and for a second it was like a movie, where the leads' eyes meet and time stops and the entire world around them just falls away.

To Lexa, falling into those blue eyes had felt like drowning, and she'd had to look away.

The second time she was more prepared for it, and she was managing – barely – to keep her head above water. 

Her phone buzzed again, and she snuck it out of her pocket to glance at the screen. Two messages from an unknown number, but there was only person they could be from:

**Unknown:** Happy V-Day to you too! 💗😍🥰😘

**Unknown:** What time is your shift over?

Lexa bit her lip again, letting it slide free as she held up her hand with two fingers extended in what could have been a peace sign, but she hoped Clarke would understand. 

Clarke gave a quick nod, her fingers dancing over her screen. Lexa expected another message right away, but nothing came up, and then her boss came around the corner and she shoved her phone into her apron and retreated to the back room, hoping Clarke would understand. 

Finally, Lexa's phone buzzed again. This time it was an address, and a time: 3 pm

She sent back a reply: 👍🏻

* * *

Lexa was so afraid of being late she ended up arriving way too early... only to discover Clarke was even earlier. She laughed and without thinking held out her mittened hands, and Clarke took them, squeezing her fingers as they just stared at each other for a long, long time. 

"Shall we go in?" Clarke asked, gesturing to the door of the fancy chocolate shop the address she'd given had led Lexa to. 

Lexa nodded, tugging it open to a chiming of bells, and allowed Clarke to pass her before stepping in and letting the door close behind them, sealing them into the steamy chocolate air. "I hope you like chocolate," Clarke said. "I guess I should have—"

"I love it," Lexa said. "This place is amazing."

"You've been here before?" Clarke asked.

Lexa shook her head. "No, only stood outside and drooled." 

"Well you're here now," Clarke said. "Order whatever you want – my treat." 

Lexa bit her lip again, then let it slide from between her teeth when she noticed Clarke was staring. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Clarke said. "These last few weeks... your drawings and notes have made them so much better. It's the least I can do." 

Lexa swallowed. _Oh._ Was she – Clarke – was she just here out of gratitude? Lexa had thought she'd made herself clear, but—

"Also, I've heard that chocolate is an aphrodisiac, so..." Clarke raised her eyebrows, her lips twisting into a smirk that made the butterflies in Lexa's stomach flutter. 

So she hadn't gotten it wrong after all. Which was a relief, but also... She felt her mitten being tugged from her hand, and Clarke's fingers laced through hers. She watched as Clarke lifted her hand to her lips, brushing them over Lexa's knuckles without ever breaking eye contact, and now the butterflies were engaged in a full-on aerial ballet. 

"I'm teasing," Clarke said, her breath ghosting over Lexa's skin. 

Lexa cleared her throat. "What if I don't want you to be?" she asked, the words out before she could think better of them.

Clarke's eyes widened, just a fraction, and Lexa couldn't help feel a little thrill of satisfaction that she'd been able to score a point instead of being constantly on the defensive. "All the more reason to decide what you want, then," she said, leading her to the pastry case.

They made their selections and ordered cocoa to go with them. The place was bustling, which wasn't surprising given the occasion, but they managed to find a table in the back corner and wedged themselves into it. It was close quarters, but Lexa didn't mind. 

Their order was brought to them almost before they'd managed to strip themselves of their coats and hats and scarves (and Clarke remembered to return Lexa's mitten), and they dug in, quiet for a few minutes except for soft appreciative noises that Lexa couldn't help imagining in other contexts, and she tried not to squirm. 

"You know," Clarke said, after washing down a stolen bite of Lexa's cake with a sip of her cocoa, "I don't even know your name." She slid her plate toward Lexa, silently offering her a taste. "I've just been calling you Glasses Girl."

"Oh!" Lexa had thought – or assumed – Clarke would have seen her name tag at some point. It hadn't occurred to her that introductions were needed. "Lexa!" she blurted. "I'm Lexa. And I usually wear contacts but I ran out and I haven't had a chance to get to the eye doctor to renew my prescription and—"

"It's okay," Clarke said, setting down her fork and reaching across the table to push Lexa's glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "I like them." She leaned in a little closer. "I like _you_."

"I like you too," Lexa whispered, leaning in too, closing her eyes as their lips met, and it was everything she'd tried and failed not to let herself imagine. Soft and sweet... and chocolatey, which made it even better. She sighed as Clarke pulled away, her eyes fluttering open, and Clarke found her hand that wasn't clutching her fork and took it in her own, and that's how they stayed as they talked and ate, getting to know the basics of each other before the intimate details that Lexa now had no doubt would be revealed sooner rather than later.

"I'll be right back," Clarke said when they were done and their plates and cups had been quickly bussed away. She went back into the main shop area, and when she returned she held a heart-shaped box tied with a ribbon and presented it to Lexa. "For later," she said. "To share... or not." 

Lexa smiled and took her hand, and they walked slowly – or as slowly as they dared, for fear they might freeze in place if they didn't keep their blood flowing – back toward the coffee shop and hospital... and then past them. "Wait," Lexa said. "Wait right here." She ducked into a flower shop and emerged after longer than she would have liked – feeling slightly guilty for leaving Clarke out in the cold – with a bouquet of a dozen roses. "For you," she said. 

Clarke buried her face in them, breathing in their scent, and looked up with smile. "They're beautiful," she said. "The second most beautiful thing I've seen today."

"What's the first?" Lexa asked. 

"My morning coffee, obviously," Clarke said, flashing a grin. 

Lexa smiled back. "That's what I thought you'd say." 

They kept walking, until they reached an apartment building, and then it was up the stairs and down the hall, through a door and another door and Lexa barely registered the apartment in between because she was too busy kissing Clarke, stripping off layers as they went, leaving a trail of winter garb in their wake. 

Clarke maneuvered her to the bed and Lexa's knees buckled as they hit its edge. She sat down heavily, and Clarke followed, her knees on either side of Lexa's hips. She reached up and plucked Lexa's glasses from her face, folding them up and setting them on the stand beside the bed, rendering the world soft and fuzzy around the edges. 

Lexa twined her arms around Clarke's waist, leaned back, and pulled her down.


End file.
